Wistful
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: There are three kinds of wistful and River Tam knows all three...some BDM spoilers


**Disclaimer: I am simply a follower of Joss and own nothing.**

**A/N: **River PoV, BDM spoilers, Rayne implied and a lot of crazy imagery.

**Summary: **There are three kinds of wistful and River Tam knows all three.

**

* * *

**

**-I-**

They cut into her head and make holes in her memory.

Needles and drugs and twin sets of blue that make her shiver and scream until the insides of her throat are raw and angry (if she had been a singer, Girl thinks from time to time when lucid thought is some kind of dream she can only hope to understand—she would never sing again after those pair of hands).

There is pain and flashes and holes, so many holes in heart and body and mind, she's afraid everything will fall out, all the clockwork bits and pieces that make Girl tick. Like Humpty Dumpty who fell off the wall and got trampled by all the king's horses and was thrown into a skillet by all the king's men.

One and one do not fit together, does not compute and everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. But she can't fix it, can't put them back together with hands strapped down, fingers writhing and clawing at air that simply dances way, air that does nothing to cradle or comfort the parts of her that fall to the floor, smash and shatter against her feet.

She is growing empty in the brain pan and the pile at her feet grows higher and higher until her head brushes the ceiling and she is a figment of her own imagination.

She watches from the distance then, her own screams echoing as they leave a foreign mouth. First person becomes third person narratives and Girl is a phantom, an imprint, the tail half of the tarnished coin.

Girl is the dream.

_(Needles and pain and the taste of copper that is forever in her mouth)_

In the night, when Girl lays in half sleep that is not truly sleep at all—_no rest for the weary, no peace for the damned_—Girl closes her eyes and wishes to be real.

**-II-**

Simon rescues her.

He picks up hurried handfuls of all the parts of her that lay on the floor, and takes her away from the blue hands and grey tiles.

He takes her away and promises no more needles, no more holes.

He promises proper sleep where dreams will come and she might rest.

He promises to fix her, make her shiny and new again.

And he does try, though he too resources to needles when her screaming grows too loud. Needles and drugs that pollute all the streams and rivers that run through her.

"It'll help," Simon says using his doctor voice, "It's going to help you get better mei mei, I promise."

But Simon's promises taste too often like lies now and when Girl tries to explain he closes his ears against her.

"Stubborn Simon, assembly required. Some pieces may be damaged." She tilts her head, making the remains shift and slide against slippery walls that have been replaced time and time again. "Broken, all broken. Bits and pieces that shift and shake but do not add. No adding, all division and subtraction. Subtract until there is nothing left. No negatives on this number line…"

Then Simon cradles her head and strokes her hair and tells her it will get better and the hazy half sleep of before settles down and drowns her.

That's when They come.

The Voices, all whispers and prods in the dark. They want her to tell stories, but she can't. Can't tell stories, "Not a story teller." Girl whispers back through the dark, fingers flexing against the cotton of her pillow, hands reaching and grabbing nothing.

All around her _Serenity,_ too, speaks, tells stories. People scream in their dreams, loud thoughts that pelt her inside and catch in her throat like bitter honey.

Honey, Kaylee calls her honey. Plays jacks and calls her honey as though she were sweet. Girl knows better, knows she is bitter honey sitting in a pretty jar. Bitter honey made by angry bees that take from thorns instead of flowers—and this is when she must stop herself. No pollen in thorns and hardly any natural honey left. All sweet now. All sweet, made by machine and tame beast. Beasts that do but do not know what they are…she does not know what she is.

Not when she tenses and all her muscles snap and push, fierce and violent, destroying and breaking with all the ease she applies to dancing. Fluid and graceful. Battles are her new dances, body bending and twisting.

Mind and body turned against Girl now.

The crew watches, watches with careful eyes that are heavy on her back. They wait, wait for the next dance that will break some thing new, make it a limp battered thing with the rest of the waste on the floor at her feet.

Girl lays herself down on the catwalk, day after day, fingers laced through the pinching metal boxes, the weight of a thousand eyes and voices in her mind and the rush of whispers in her ears.

Body slack, Girl closes her eyes and wishes to be normal.

**-III-**

Girl tells a story.

Pieces falling as she makes her way, bit after crumbled bit, still half hidden in shadows, falling into place, slipping and filling the cracks that have long existed inside her head.

_Miranda_

Her tongue is heavy and all her limbs awkward as she makes a new dance and they all lay down. She doesn't follow.

The Voices go quiet and she flies.

Everything quiet now, even the sorrow that is now a passenger aboard _Serenity_ is quiet, tip toeing down the cat walk and laying in bed with her, whispering and telling secrets before walking away, light feet that make no noise.

Girl is simply Girl again; everything fixable. Some things compute again, things that have not added together in so long she thinks she has forgotten the answer. The clock does not strike twelve and Cinderella gets to stay at the ball.

Girl feels as eyes go soft and hands and hearts open not too long after, Girl wakes one morning and she has Family, capital 'F' and all. She wakes and finds herself Home, and even _Serenity_ speaks softer now, words like soft silver against her ears as she lays asleep, dreams of swans and sugar plums filling her head.

Girl dreams and Girl smiles, Girl has a Home and a Family.

Girl is happy.

First and third person shift and turn less often now and the bits and pieces no longer shatter, no longer push up in their place and fall, make her writhe and scream. Girl thinks she might sing but not so much time has passed to allow this fantasy, so Girl continues to dance instead, back curved, legs stretching, a new set of eyes watching her now, flooding her with heat that seeps into the cracks that will forever remain inside of her.

Girl is happy and Girl is loved, lets her guard down and does not take into account the beginning.

She does not hear the cracking or see the fine lines that run up and down the length of her.

Girl does not hear the ticking of the clock in the back ground as it inches towards midnight until she is a pumpkin. Then she is trampled and smashed, all her insides resting on the cobbled streets.

Cinderella's dressed in tattered rags and nothings left but cellar mice. Nibble, nibble, nibble cellar mice go, chewing on all the seams that hold her together.

Hands like sieves that reach and grab but hold nothing.

Girl is forced to watch as all the parts of her crumble away, but eyes do not focus even as Voices become loud again. Jill takes a trip and falls down the hill but there's no Jack to find at the bottom. Girl is alone even as she lies besides another, silent whimpers she presses down as she holds herself tightly against the pull-push that persist inside her at every moment.

She does not know what They want now, "Told your story," she tells Them, voice like sand, slipping and drowning inside her, "Told your story, have no more. She does not understand."

The Voices grow angry, grow louder still, adding to the push-pull inside her head, making everything ache and grow tired and tense.

No dancing then, Girl just sits and stares as stars as she falls through the sky, nothing but waiting until she hits bottom.

Will not tell Simon, Girl decides as she stands in the middle of the cargo bay and stretches weary limbs that never loosen.

Simon smiles now too, and Kaylee is still the last of the natural sweetness that remains in the 'verse, and together they are shiny. Girl will not damage that.

Daddy too is happy and Sorrow has long since taken its leave of _Serenity_, returning only in brief visits that leave no real resent.

So Girl does not speak, takes all the screams and pushes them back down her throat, jagged edges catching and tearing but she swallows and does not choke.

She will lock it all away, hold it together—though she wonders if she will swell as the amount grows, if the others will notice then or only when all of_ Serenity_ is coated with pieces of left over girl.

The ticking persist and all around her is growth and life and Girl continues to fall down the rabbit hole until she can no longer recall how long she has been falling. She finds herself forgetting what she is, acting without thought, looking in as though from a distance, words pouring forth from parted lips that even she cannot make sense of.

Girl is becoming the weapon again, all metal and machine beneath the shell of a girl that falls away quicker and quicker, chips and flakes that peel away beneath scratching fingers…

"Whatcha doin', Crazy?" Big Bear asks when he finds her, huddled away in one of _Serenity's_ secret places, fingers scratching; leaving lines of angry red on her skin that she nips and tears at with impatient fingers. Skin like wool that itches and scratches; wolf in sheep's wool, she thinks, scratching harder. The count down reaches its end and Girl is growing fainter and fainter though none seem to notice.

"Hey!" His eyes settle on lines of rusted rose that travel down her arm, calloused hand reaching out to still her own. "Whatcha think you doin here Girl?" Girl goes limp as he pulls her from her hiding place, burrows into him when the Voices find her again and closes her eyes as he sets her down on the cool silver of her brother's infirmary. There is no sting to the alcohol he applies and no foreign feeling to the gauze he wraps after, safely hidden beneath the sleeve of her sweater.

Girl feels rough hands on her face, feels warm wet breath on her face. "Wha' were ya doin' back there, baby doll?"

"Rag dolls not made for puppet strings." She replies, voice low and distant.

Girl stirs then, feels his confusion coming off him in waves, mingled with worry and, just faintly, like copper on the tip of her tongue, his fear.

"Bang, squish," she whimpers, head tucked against his chest, Jill climbing the steep hill, trying to get home. "Bang, squish, bullet to the brain pan." Thin arms go up, slip around him as he tenses. She knows he is no longer so partial to the idea but there is nothing to do now. He understands.

Girl holds him close and nods as big hands settle on her back and hold her, makes out a mumble against her hairline and breathes out. Girl relaxes and Jill slips down the hill once more, though she does not scream this time. Even Jill understands, no Jack this time, just Jill and Jayne and Girl who know the secret and have a plan.

"Bang, squish, bullet to the brain pan." Girl repeats, feels him shudder as he holds her tighter, feels the flutter of his grief and knows Sorrow will join the crew again soon. "She's not afraid." Girl confesses though it might be a lie. "Make it quick." She adds when They return, pressing down on her ears, tap dancing in her head as the itch in her skin grows. She makes fistfuls of fading green fabric to keep them still. Girl wishes to keep the moment a mite longer.

Eyes pressed closed Girl continues, "She wishes for it to be quick."

**End**

**Feedback is Love**


End file.
